


Woman

by Profoundly_Poetic (LinguistLove_24)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Book Signings, Book Tours, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Inspiration, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Multi, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/Profoundly_Poetic
Summary: "A young woman came up to me and she said, you know I've really had a very hard time the last couple years of my life. I didn't know if I wanted to go on living."





	Woman

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having problems with the embed feature currently, so ---> www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXyA4MXKIKo - title track
> 
> \---> www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiMhWlJrWcU - video that inspired this work. Head to 6:00 in, more specifically.  
>    
> I've been horrible at updating stories lately - or focusing on much writing at all - but life comes first and I've been having quite a tough time personally. That too, to some degree, was a source of inspiration for this little one shot and provided a few moments' catharsis. I really have no idea when I will be back more frequently, but I thank each of you for your readership and comments and the willingness to stick with me despite it seeming like I've fallen off the Earth as of late.

**Woman**

 

_Watchung Booksellers,_

_Montclair, NJ_

_10 AM._

 

“Are you ready for today?” Huma glances sideways at me as the van we're occupying – coated in black paint and the absolute epitome of durability – stops in a parking spot near the venue hosting us on the latest stop of my book tour. I squint and peer out the tinted window closest to me. Throngs of people are snaked round the building, waving frantically though they can't see me. My mouth opens slightly, and I remember that I was briefed in regards to the store's opening time – 10 AM. We'd arrived promptly. These supporters, however, must have been standing outside for hours.

 

“Shocked, are we?” Huma laughs softly as I feel my skin tingle from head to foot in gratitude. No matter how many times I've done this, the novelty never seems to wear. Despite years of bitter political campaigns, scandals, and the spin tactics of mainstream media outlets, I was still standing. There were still people here for me, who carried the same vision for America I always had. Never would I stop feeling grateful.

 

“A little bit,” I say dryly with a half smile, fingers clutched round the door handle. Grabbing my purse with my free hand, I push the door of the vehicle lightly with my shoulder, shuffle in the seat and step down. Huma follows me, feet thudding lightly against the pavement.  
  
“You shouldn't be,” she says, brushing dark strands of wind blown hair from the side of her face. “This book has been just as cathartic for your supporters as it has for you.”

 

“Mrs. Clinton,” an agent says to me, lightly clasping my elbow. “I'm going to take you in the back entrance so you don't get mobbed.”  
  
“Okay,” I laugh lightly. “Lead the way.” Huma and I walk in line formation behind him, she with gaze fixated straight ahead, myself shaking my head with every step. Each event – in its own way – has a humbling effect and keeps my feet rooted to the ground.

 

 

**///**

 

The shop was spacious, but quaint, in its way. I couldn't put a finger on exactly why, but I'd liked the atmosphere from the moment I'd walked in the door. The number of employed staff didn't seem to be as large as in some of the venues I'd previously visited, and the circle of them seemed tight knit. Each member had greeted me incredibly kindly, (most with hugs rather than handshakes) and with smiles upon their faces which struck me as genuine rather than the pasted variety. I'd spent a few moments gazing around at the shelves upon shelves of books and thought of my husband. My eyes had fallen on many we already had on our shelves back home in Chappaqua, and I smiled to myself thinking that if I picked one up and gave it to him as a gift once our schedules coincided again, he would be tempted anew to rearrange everything so as to find the right spot to place it.

 

 

Now, I found myself situated at a round wooden table, dark varnish coating the top. I'd lost count of how many times I'd written my name in the last hour, but caught myself nearly making a mess of it a few times, and the scent of permanent marker was beginning to give me a heady feeling.

 

 _You'd better get a grip,_ I tell myself. _7 pm is a long way off._

 

I inhale deeply, releasing the breath slowly during a slight lull in the queue. _This mass of people is here for you,_ I remind myself silently as though it's some sort of newly acquired mantra. _You will not let them down. You will not let them see you sweat. You'll find the energy you need, and you will press on._ I feel my mouth lift into a half smile as I pick up the marker I'd abandoned whilst stretching stiffened fingers.

 

“Hello, Madam Secretary.” Hearing a timid voice, I pull my gaze upward and my blues meet the hazel eyes of a short, slender, brown haired woman who I'd guess couldn't be more than thirty.  
  
“Hello,” I say. “Thank you for coming.” She nods, finally managing a half smile back at me. Despite it, I can't help but notice the paleness of her face, the drawn nature of her eyes.

 

“Thank you,” she says with emphasis. “For the book.” I look down at the copy of What Happened she'd placed before me on the table, opening it to the title page. “What's your name?” I ask kindly as I make eye contact again.

 

“Ashleigh,” she tells me, proceeding to spell it out as she sees me touch black Sharpie to the page.

 

“Here you go,” I singsong as I hand it back to her. Our fingers collide for the briefest of moments and I pick up on the fact that she's shaking. Fixating for a second time on her face, I notice droplets of water pooled in the orbs I'd found to be drawn just moments ago. That seemed to intensify with her emotional state – only now they were both drawn and wet, the tears not shed threatening to overflow and cascade down her cheeks.

 

There were people waiting, I knew. Some had been waiting all day. I didn't want to hold them up, but I'd learned on these tours that sometimes these few moments were the ray of hope the supporters before me were clinging to. We all have stories locked inside of us that we rarely – if ever – share out loud. Sometimes all someone needs – just once – is to be heard.

 

Looking to the left of me, I get Huma's attention and she seems to know instinctively what I'm trying to convey. _This one might need a few extra minutes._ She nods in understanding, and I know that if it came down to it, she'd find a way to engage the crowds so they felt their experience enriched rather than wasted.

 

“Are you okay?” I ask softly as I gaze back at Ashleigh, hoping it's in a way that lets her know she has my full attention.

 

“Yeah,” she tells me in a breathy sort of whisper, wiping a tear. “I'm sorry, I know there are a lot of people waiting. I promised myself I wouldn't do this here.”

 

“No,” I say, plucking a tissue from the box to my right and handing it across to her. “Don't worry about it. Forget about all of them for a minute. Talk to me.”

 

Folding and refolding the tissue, she dabs at her eyes before tucking it into her pocket.  
  
“I've just had a really difficult time the last couple years of my life,” she tells me, swallowing a lump in her throat and trying not to choke over the words spilling from her mouth. “Your loss definitely made it harder.”

 

I nod, and she looks away from me whilst speaking the next sentence, as though shame would be mirrored back at her and the mere thought of it is unbearable.

 

“I wasn't sure I wanted to go on living. But with everything you've been through, how you've handled it...” Ashleigh trails off, and I feel tears filling my own eyes as I swiftly reach out and clasp her hands in mine.

 

“Do you have children?” I ask her.

 

“Two,” she answers, slightly surprised. “Five and three.”

 

“They're young,” I say quietly. “They need their mother.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Listen to me,” I tell her softly as my heart breaks for the way her voice cracked. “Don't ever quit. You don't quit on those kids, and never on yourself, you hear me?” I squeeze her hands in reassurance as she nods. “They're worth more than that. _You're_ worth more than that.”

 

“I know,” Ashleigh says again, tears still falling, but warble less apparent in her voice. “I'm not gonna quit. Not now.”

 

“You're strong,” I tell her. “You have it in you to continue to be strong and continue modelling that for your children. You're a woman, and we women are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world.” She smiles broadly for the first time since our encounter, and I release her hands. “It's not always gonna be easy, but we have to fight. You can get through whatever is in front of you. You may be changed on the other side, but that's okay too, as long as you don't give up.”  
  
“I won't,” she says. “I promise.” She stands to full height, and I sense that there are words left lodged in her throat. “Can I hug you?” I hear before I've any opportunity to wonder what they are.

 

“Absolutely,” I laugh as I move my chair away from the table and stand. “I thought you'd never ask.”

 

 

**///**

 

“Long day, ladies?” The driving agent had left the partition down at the request of Huma and myself, and despite descending darkness, must've caught our tired expressions in the visor mirror.

 

“You could say that,” Huma spoke up, chuckling as she recapped a tube of lip balm before tossing it into the purse on the seat next to her.

 

The stories of the many supporters I'd met throughout the day were still playing on a loop in my head. Many I'd not forget for a long time to come and would probably plague me at the most inopportune times, (curse the gift of sharp memory) but I was stuck on Ashleigh's. I wholeheartedly hoped that she'd taken my words to heart and would apply them, fighting and refusing to give up.

 

“Mrs. Clinton?”

 

The voice wafting from the front seat pulls me out from inside the depths of my own racing mind, and I smile. No matter how often I insisted those who work closest with me call me by my first name, there were all too many utterances of 'Mrs. Clinton' to be heard in between. _Old habits die hard,_ they'd all told me.

 

 

“Yup? Sorry, was distracted.”

 

The reflection of pearly white teeth glints off the front mirror as I cock my head and look toward it. “Radio?” the agent questions.

 

“Sure,” I say enthusiastically as I watch his hand reach down and flick the dial.

 

 

_...I'm a motherfuckin' woman, baby, that's right. I don't need a man to be holding me too tight._

_I'm a motherfuckin' woman, baby, that's right..._  
  
  
My loud, thundering, uninhibited laugh escapes before I can stifle it, and out of the corner of my eye I take in Huma and the agent both jumping in their seats simultaneously.  
  
“Sorry,” I breathe after a few minutes. “Can you turn this up? Please?”

 

“Okay,” the agent mumbles, confused. The music blares louder, drowning all thoughts in my head, and I lose myself for a few glorious moments. Huma joins me in my terribly off key singing, lightly touching my arm and speaking directly into my ear as Kesha's voice fades to Ella Henderson's.

 

“You know this song?” she asks me with a cocked brow.

 

“Yeah,” I call back. “Reminds me of someone. Conversation I had.”

 

“Who?” Huma questions.

 

“Just a woman,” I say casually, wanting to keep the details of our encounter to myself for a while, knowing full well it wasn't casual at all. _A strong motherfuckin' woman,_ I think, feeling privileged beyond measure, not for the first time.

 

Funny how women so often empower each other without even knowing they're doing it.


End file.
